


to acknowledge

by nautilics



Series: SASO 2017 Fills [14]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilics/pseuds/nautilics
Summary: The twins, over the years.Or:Three times Atsumu said 'thank you' to Osamu, and one time he didn't.





	to acknowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 7: Free-for-all | Originally posted [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/25713.html?thread=16181105#cmt16181105).

1.

Atsumu is six years, three months, five days, six hours and 28 minutes old, and he's not afraid of anything. He can chase away monsters in the closet, poke his tongue out at the big, noisy dog that lives next door, and can even eat all of his vegetables (well, almost all of them). 

There's nothing that can stand in his way, or so he thinks, until he sees something big, hairy, and with _way too many legs_ scuttle across their bedroom floor one afternoon while he's playing with Osamu. 

Atsumu screams and it's like his limbs are frozen, till Osamu (six years, three months, five days, six hours and 41 minutes old), also screaming, grabs the box that holds all their Lego pieces and slams it over the monster. Stray bits of Lego scatter across the floor. He scrambles back immediately and grabs for Atsumu's arm. 

Atsumu stops screaming and gapes at his twin instead. "'Samu...that was so cool! You swooped in like _BAM_! You saved our lives! Thank you!" 

Osamu clings tighter to his arm. "'Tsumu," he starts, voice trembling. "What do we do now?" 

They both turn to stare at the box. It shuffles, slightly. 

With identical screams, they pelt for the door.

 

2\. 

"Just this once," Osamu insists, sliding his maths homework across at last. "Otherwise I'll get in trouble too." 

Atsumu crows and grabs for it immediately and starts scribbling down answers onto his own sheet. "Thank you 'Samu! I'll be real quick! Have you got your history homework too? You're the best!" 

"You're the worst," Osamu sighs. 

 

3\. 

The form is a bit crinkled when Osamu fishes it from his bag, but whole, and—most importantly—here, and not on the kitchen counter where Atsumu had forgotten it this morning. "You owe me," says Osamu as he passes it over. "Told you not to procrastinate handing it in so much, didn't I?"

"I know, I know, thanks 'Samu. Coach would have my head otherwise." Atsumu reaches out to ruffle Osamu's hair, and Osamu probably gets his sincerity because he allows it without ducking away. 

"Would have been hilarious though," Osamu muses, as they walk towards the gym. "'High school boy forgets to hand in permission slip, misses out on renowned national training camp.'" 

"Slaughtered by team coach—" 

"—no, wait, Kita-san would get to you first—" 

"—slaughtered by team captain with a well-placed volleyball, body forever unfound," Atsumu finishes with a flourish of his hands as they arrive.

Osamu snickers "Maybe I shouldn't have grabbed it for you after all.” He pushes the gym doors open. “Could do with some peace and quiet.”

 

 _+1_

Osamu finds him while he's in the middle of splashing water in his face outside the stadium for the billionth time. He hears the footsteps over the sound of gushing water, sees the black sneakers stop at the edge of his vision, and doesn't look up. 

Neither of them say anything. Atsumu presses down on the tap again, and this time fills his mouth with water, focusing on the cool liquid down his throat, and not on his heavy arms, his aching wrists, or the memory of the ball against his fingertips as he sent forward that last, fateful toss. 

His grip on the tap slips and the spout dies down to nothing. Water drips from his cheeks. Each drop against the basin echoes like a ball smacking to the ground, uncaught, signalling the end. 

A towel lands over his head, cutting through his thoughts. 

"Next year, 'Tsumu," Osamu says, before Atsumu can muster a 'thanks'. "We'll get them next year." 

Atsumu straightens, and presses the towel against his burning eyes. "Yeah," he says, voice muffled. "You're damn right, 'Samu."


End file.
